“Shane” is one of my favorite films. My affection for George Stevens' 1953 Western dates back to when I first saw it, probably sometime during 1953 or '54, with my family at some San Diego or Corpus Christi, Texas, drive-in.

Remember drive-ins? In my family at the time, there were five of us. And my position was right behind my father. So I watched all movies over my father's right shoulder, which was a suitable position considering one of the major themes of “Shane” is the father-son relationship.

But as I explained to an audience at the Magic Lantern last night, my own personal reaction to Stevens' film is only part of what I appreciate about it. If you were to do a poll of any half-dozen critics, you would probably receive a like number of reactions.

Most of them, though, would fall into two basic camps: 1, the film is a masterpiece (maybe flawed but still a masterpiece); 2, “Shane” is an overhyped example of the glorified Western myth.

I fall into the former camp. And much of the reason why dates back to when I first started taking film courses at the University of California, San Diego. In those days, the program stressed structuralism. We were told to look closely at films to try to figure out how they are put together, why the director (editor, cinematographer, camera operator, etc.) makes particular decisions concerning what ends up on the big screen.

And over and above the film's storytelling, this is the heart of a visual medium. And as “Shane” demonstrates, Stevens could be a particularly inventive visualist. I usually refer to four scenes when I emphasize this:

the opening when Shane (Alan Ladd) rides up to the Starret farm and encounters the family, father Joe (Van Heflin), son Joey (Brandon De Wilde) and mother Marian (Jean Arthur);

Torrey's funeral, when the stereotypical grave-side sequence is broken up by the actions of a dog, the talk of children, a haunting harmonica and the ever-present vistas of the Tetons in the distance;

the climactic meeting between the Ryker brothers (Emile Meyer, John Dierkes) in the Starret's front yard, where the themes of rancher vs. homesteader are expressed but our attention, and Joey's, are on the two preening gunfighters;

and the finale, which includes the obligatory shootout, Shane's goodbye to Joey and his lonely ride out of the valley.

But I would also add the fight scene between Shane and father Joe, one that takes place in the cabin's front yard but which is seen mostly from inside where Marian and Joey are running from window to window. The men fight, the livestock scrambles wildly out of the way and all is in tormoil until, locked in a manly embrace against the very upended tree trunk that originally bonded them, Shane pulls out his pistol and knocks Joe unconscious.

The sequence is masterful in its economy of style, unlike most anything seen in movies today. But, of course, it may have been a cinematic necessity considering Heflin, standing 6-feet-tall, towered over the 5-feet-4 Ladd. There was no way Stevens could have filmed a straight up fight between the two and make it believable.

Such, though, is great cinema. You take a problem and make it a benefit.

I certainly appreciate that. And last night's audience seemed to, also.

The next offering in the Professor's Series, which is sponsored by the Spokane Intrernational Film Festival, is the director's cut of Ridley Scott's “Blade Runner.” Don't miss it.

Below: The trailer for “Blade Runner.”